


I Didn't Go to See The City (I Went to See It Around You)

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Series: 30 Days of Dark Fandom Challenge (ACOTAR) [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amren is kinda 'evil' but in a 'I just wanna find a way home' kinda way?, And by Politics, Doing Politics, Elain as The High Lady of Spring, F/F, Fallen Angel!Amren, I Mean Hanky Panky, Trans!Amren, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: 'Amren has ruled for more than a thousand years, and she is sure she could rule a thousand more until the appearance of Spring Made Flesh._____________________________A series of vignettes/snapshots of a world in which Amren is quite literally a fallen angel who became trapped in this dimension eons ago, and Elain is just some High Lady without a century to her name, sent to entreat Queen Amren to the whims of Prythian. And Amren, revered and feared throughout the world, even on the Continent, falls once again.





	I Didn't Go to See The City (I Went to See It Around You)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt: Elren: Demons/Fallen Angels**  
>  (NB a later one I've half-written will ALSO match this theme since this one is pretty short)

The only sound is that of steam whistling out of high windows and the gentle lapping of water against stone. Elain’s silks drop to the marble floor. Hybern’s apathetic climate has turned her already pale skin the white of fresh goat's milk, almost translucent in its starvation of sunlight, flecked with a sky’s worth of constellating dark freckles. Vapour has slicked it prematurely, so she shines like a statue enshrouded in mist.  

She glances back at her solitary audience and smiles - no,  _ smirks _ . There is no demure innocence left in her once angelic lips, only the shape of unspoken amusement at how closely she is being studied. She tilts her head in a coy mimicry of uncertainty, her copper curls sweeping over her shoulder to frame her face as the moment freezes with an offer and a decision.

“Care to join me?”

 

***

 

Amren has ruled for more than a thousand years, and she is sure she could rule a thousand more until the appearance of Spring Made Flesh.

There is nothing intimidating in the make of her; she is small and plump and has the face of a cherub; Amren would know, having had to put up with that particular race in a past life for far, far too long. Her hips walk adorned in sashes of roses, not blades, and none of her smiles or gazes or pointed words appear designated as weapons. It is almost as if the title of most honoured guest is true.

But well-paid informants tucked neatly into the shadows of inner circles informed her that Elain is indeed here by Rhysand’s instruction, though she may now be a High Lady herself. All of Prythian elected  _ her _ to come here to Hybern to persuade its tyrant to open her borders, to allow the flow of people - and thus information and objects - both in and out. 

But it is not the diffusion of her subjects that Amren fears. Her purpose is, and always has been, much more specific. This is something she assumes with one glance that Spring’s High Lady will never understand, though her stomach twists in dismissed warning, for it speaks the same language as the smile shining her way. She feels before she knows that something  _ more _ is coming. 

Her innate distrust for her mortal body and its seasons finally comes to cost her dearly, though she’s blind from the beginning to what all declare the end.

 

***

 

Amren is quick to follow Elain into the waters of the underground hot spring baths, designed by the all too charming Helion who she is certain did so with private, heated affairs entirely in mind. Her own clothes are thrown unloved and crumpled somewhere she does not bother to note, for to do so would require removing her gaze from carving the curves of the other’s ample hips, her sinking thighs, and she might miss the chance to memorise them before the water swallows them up. “I remember these from Night,” Elain says in a voice far calmer than her counterpart. “We’re not so lucky in Spring.” She pauses and smirks again, all too charming, all too composed. “Ironically.” 

There is something changed about her habit, less the dropping of a mask than the stripping back of layers. Sunny pertness has faded in the gloam of the spa to the kind of serenity Amren expects from ancients, not those still crawling through their first century.  In all her years trapped in this damn dimension she cannot recall ever meeting one so young who could ever make her feel so insecure. So desperate.

It is emotion in such a degree of acuteness that she barely remembers when she was last able to feel so intensely. It is disorientating, unpleasant, but clung to. Perhaps the millennia have made her arrogant, for she is eager to dive heart first into the intoxication. It never once occurs to her that she might never again climb out.

Reaching the far edge of the pool, Elain turns and merely waits. It is Amren, not she, who feels embarrassed by the silence, the stillness, the stare that is now returned to her twofold. She has slain vast armies single-handedly and yet here her bones creak in apprehension. 

Though her thoughts urge forth what is to follow, her body floods with adrenaline, her muscles locking to prevent her falling further. Her soul’s housing knows she is to be dismantled. 

She does not listen.

Closing the distance protecting her, she goes to that soft body, taking it into her palms like a gift, slow and savouring. Her breath wanes thin as she neglects it in favour of exploring sensitive earlobes, hidden planes of jaw and neck, until she gives in and gorges her lips and tongue on plush breasts, circling in to press chaste kisses atop Elain’s nipples. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers into the crease between her breasts, sighing softly at the sensation of caring again. Elain looks back at her, neither smiling nor frowning.

“I know.”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Will likely be continued after finished the 30 day challenge, unless I sneak in some extra time.


End file.
